Picnic 101

Every time the word picnic is bandied about, it conjures up (in my head) images of an English countryside, flush with daffodils,  the gentle sun shining down upon four kids and a dog, as they paused in between adventures. As I followed Julian, Dick, George, Anna and Timothy through 18 books, I became as enchanted with their picnics - the lemonades, the bicycle rides, the ginger beer, cheese and bacon, and cucumber sandwiches. 

Last year, when we got back to State College after our wedding our very first outing was a picnic. And we realized that a picnic is the perfect outing for us. As a couple we are not planners. We like to take things by the minute and picnics are perfect for this. You often don't need anything fancy. Something about the outdoors makes the simplest of foods taste delicious. So yesterday when we couldn't decide what to do for the day, we picnicked. As picnic veterans, we can't help but give you a picnic 101.




Never EVER plan a picnic. Plan something else; most likely that won't happen and you'll end up going on a picnic. Picnics are guaranteed to be fun, so you win either way.

A ride through the countryside with long winding roads is a must. Folks that live in the city and think a picnic in Central Park is a sweet deal, I'm sorry!

Kick up your heels to get in the picnic mode.

Head to a local state park. Enjoy the foliage and bloom as you go. And if you have a smart-phone click pictures of everything.

If it is going to be close to 90 degrees Fahrenheit, make sure there is a water body. When it gets warm, you are going to want to jump in.

Find a perfect spot to settle down. We are not big on getting tanned, so we always pick the a spot under a tree. Set down your cute picnic bag (yes that one you got for free with the purchase of the granny quilt).

Spread out your blanket and lie down and people watch for a while. That is until some very raucous, self-obsessed, bikini-clad schoolgirls start strutting their stuff up and down the beach. That is when you are so glad you brought a book along. Another rule, never leave the house without a book. Not just for picnic. For anything! You never know when boredom will strike.

Before long though, you will want to eat. The best part of picnic is keeping it simple with the food - i.e., no prepping needed at all. Now, I know as budding gourmet chefs the idea of not whipping that watermelon into a sorbet is tearing you apart. But please, stop yourself.

Now that your belly is happy, you could do a several things. Take a nap, for starters. I don't know why there aren't enough odes written in praise of napping under the sun. It is the best thing really (If you ignore the possibility of an insect entering your ear).

Finally, bring something along for play (a frizbee, a volleyball, maybe a kayak !?).  All that food and no play will make you obese.

Finally, quoting Baz Luhrman,  "Wear Sunscreen".  Now that is just common sense, really!

City Mouse Country Mouse

When I got my letter of acceptance from Penn State five years ago, I remember thinking, "Holy Smokes! I'm going to get to see snow for the first time in my life. I'm going to get to see the leaves in all their fiery hues, just like the stunning photograph on my wall calendar". I was bursting with anticipation.

I landed in State College on a cool summer night. As we rode home, I was struck by how dark and quiet it was the whole ride home. The air bore smells freshly cut grass and of manure from the farms.  We could listen to the crickets without having to strain our ears.

Having been brought up in a city which only gets hotter with every passing summer and suffocating and bursting at its seams, it felt nice to have some space at last. The first few months marked my infatuation with small town life. The familiar sights and sounds, the peace and quiet, the friendly people. This pastoral bovine existence; I could get used to this, I thought. But all that changed on a fateful December day...

The whirlwind of a first semester was over all too soon; time dissolved in long tea-filled study sessions with new friends, scrambling to find used furniture, wild partying and roommate squabbles. Thus, while still catching my breath after my exams, I set foot in Lafayette Street in the New York City China Town neighborhood at four in the morning on a frigid December morning. I was asleep during the bus ride there and only looked up when I was forcibly ejected from it, by a rude driver who wouldn't get my luggage out because I didn't have change to tip him. I was suddenly amidst all the things I had left behind in India. Trash on the streets, dust, blinding lights, smells that reminded me of home. Add to that the spine-bending skyscrapers, and most importantly, restaurants that were open past nine in the evening. Suddenly, I missed all that. I didn't even realize I did. I didn't realize how antiseptic and numbing the 'perfect little-town' existence was. I realized that I was young again, filled with life. Filled with feeling. I craved to constantly be on the move, to be a part of the pulsating city life.  Over the next few days I went about the cliched tourist experience in a frenzy; stopping now and then to pick my jaw up.  I came across landmarks from my favorite sitcoms.  I was in love.

When I returned to State College after that trip, my relationship with the small town began to sour rapidly. I started complaining about the very things that I had loved about it - the quiet, the smells, the familiarity, the lack of things to do. It was all beginning to infuriate me. I vowed to go to the city as often as time permitted. And I did. Over the next year or two, I made seven or eight trips. I discovered new neighborhoods, new foods, new kinds of people. I met my husband on the bus to the city, and together, we have come back several more times.  We have had dreams of making the city our home one day. Of starting a cafe' bookstore one day like our beloved Webster's cafe back in State College.

But in the course of five years and numerous trips to the city something changed. Suddenly the fascination wore off.  The long periods in the subways got to us. The constant exhaustion we felt, got to us. We also came to realize that to live in the city means working crazy hours and living in a tiny cramped apartment somewhere. If we wanted to live in slightly more spacious dwellings we'd have to move to (gasp!) suburban New Jersey and have to make the tiring commute everyday. Somehow, that didn't seem too appealing to us.

But also, in these five years, we have learned to love the rustic charm of small town life. We have taken up hiking, camping and experiencing the quiet joy of being outdoors. I have discovered my culinary abilities and the lack of restaurants doesn't seem to bother me anymore.  We still need the occasional injection of city-madness, but we can only take it in small doses.

We recently went to the city to celebrate our anniversary. After subway hopping for three very rainy days, and several gastronomic indulgences under our belt, we returned home. On our way back, when we saw the "Welcome to Pennsylvania" sign, we exchanged a knowing smile. It was good to be home.

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In Memoriam Spring

It always takes you by surprise. You wake up one morning, look out of the window and you know it is here. The next act. Someone changed the background lighting, overnight, from grey to yellow, the shade of hope. Then, things move along in a frenzy.

Images appear and disappear as if from a flip-book. The calls of coiffed cardinals that make you look up every time, new sunlight filtering through miniscule translucent green leaves, the "smell of the earth", of fresh life, a burst of brilliant colors, bumble bees suspended in air like tiny helicopters. It is almost as if life is making up for lost time spent sleeping all winter. The window of opportunity is small. Buds turn into full bloom within days, possibly hours. This regeneration of life everywhere; it overwhelms you.











Ducks bear little ones. Motherhood turns them into authoritative figures. They don't run away from from you anymore. They lay claim to their land, their offspring. They challenge you when you get too close. Puppies begin to chase emboldened squirrels.

But before you can register all this, and finish that sneeze, plan that picnic, you are thrown headlong into those lazy hazy crazy days of summer. And you are left wondering if you just imagined it all.















And then you realize, summer was the goal all along. Spring was just the heady hurried preparation leading up to it. Like the household of a bride before her wedding day. And you think to yourself ,

"Next time, I will savor spring".

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I leave you now with a recipe for stuffed eggplant. This is a creation of mine stemming from my undying affection for Quinoa and my resolve to show my husband that eggplants are edible.
We had this on the first day of spring. I was just breaking out of a culinary lull and this very dish became my inspiration for this blog. Bright, fanciful and flighty; much like spring itself.

Hye-Coo

long stubby pale brown
skirted frocked sandaled merry
legs frolic in Spring

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Cauliflower Apple Soup Bidding adieu to winter Serves: 2 Prep time: 1 Hour Active prep time: 15 minutes
Ingredients
Cauliflower	1 head cut into florets
Olive oil	4 Tbsp
Apple	1 sliced
Milk(cream for richer texture)	2 cups
Nutmeg	a pinch
Cinnamon	a pinch
Cumin powder	a pinch
Red pepper/paprika	a pinch for heat
Garlic	5-6 pods
Fennel Seeds	1 Tbsp
Cheese,pref Gruyere(optional)	1/2 cup grated
Method
1. Toss the florets, apple slices and garlic pods with 3 tbsp olive oil, spices and fennel seeds and salt(to taste). 2. Preheat oven to 375 degree Fahrenheit. Transfer the vegetables to the oven and broil uncovered for 20 minutes. Take them out after 10 minutes and turn them over. The cauliflowers should be slightly browned at this point. 3. Cover the vessel with a foil and return to the oven for 15 more minutes. The cauliflowers and apples should be tender by now. 4. Let it cool completely. Puree in Blender in batches with milk+water(until required consistency is reached. 5. Heat well just before serving. Adjust salt, add grated cheese and cracked pepper. Serve with slices of hearty garlic bread.

OverPunctuated Summer Reverie

Cold rain. Life sucking cold. Long cold. Dull Cold. It has been a long winter.
SHE closes her eyes. To dream of another place. Another lifetime. Another Life. Another Time.
A Life. Some Time.

It is a sultry day. The air is heavy; heavy with the possibility of an endless summer.
SHE presses one foot down on the cool marble floor. Wiggling her toes to make her body draw some of that coolness. The other foot is perched on a cane chair. A bead of sweat drips from her forehead onto the parched page of the book. She wipes it with her forefinger, making a small wet smear on the page.

SHE wishes she could sweat now. Somehow feel alive. Feel.

Hot sea breeze disturbs her untamed hair. SHE is thankful for it. There was a power cut an hour ago. The hum of the ceiling fan had stopped then. The room has settled into a dusty quiet. SHE pushes her hair out of the way and tries to tuck it behind her ears. There is the rustle of the coconut trees in the occasional breeze, soothing, calming. It sounds like foil being crumpled deep inside a well.

That is what it sounds like to her now.

The roar of an auto-rickshaw rips the silence every now and then. SHE hears the salt-seller in the distance. It breaks her concentration.
SHE looks up, squinting at the slivers of sunlight glinting through the swaying palm leaves. They leave rippling puddles of orange on the dark floor.

Seems absurd now. The hawking of salt in the street. But then again, everything about that life seems strange now.

The clothes washed earlier that morning are on the line; dried stiff. They dried moments after they were hung. Since then they have been baking and crisping. Colorful clips hold them on the line. A maroon blouse, too thin for its clip, has slipped away, and is lying near the empty well. The well that has been dry for years; built when water was not a luxury.

The post-lunch stupor is wearing off, to be replaced by late-afternoon hunger. Soon it will be time for tiffin** and tea.

SHE hears the doorbell and ponders if she should go and take a look. Paati* is in the backyard. Collecting stray coconuts,
or putting red chillies out to dry on an old Sari,
or picking stones out of rice.
Any one of the many things Paati did on summery afternoons. There was always something to be done.

SHE lifts her skinny body heavily off the cane chair. The faded red cushion underneath is misshapen. It has not aged with grace, carrying the burden of generations. Mottled with vestiges of the years - stains of coffee, stains of tea, baby drool, adult drool, hair oil, yogurt, vermillion, kohl, tears,

SHE registers the grin before she notices the person bearing it.
Anjalai has come a hawkin'.
Her sparkling rounded white teeth always visible. The singular red dot on her broad forehead,
the only remaining sign of her attempts at vanity earlier in the day. The cheap talcum powder has conspired with her sweat and left long white chalky lines around her temple. Her Bright-dirty sari is draped carelessly around her plump dark body.

Anjalai lifts her enormous basket from her head and drops it with a thud,
lets out a sigh. She then fixes herself a spot on the last porch step, bracing herself for yet another performance. Of the same dance. The hibiscus and Bougainvilleas framing the porch
make small unnoticeable movements. They are ready for their watering.

Paati walks into the scene. Anjalai's grin gets wider. Remarks about the heat are bandied. How much hotter it has gotten since last week. Everything is always worse off since last week. Except her produce. She always talks about them in the same doting voice a mother uses to describe her child; admiring, protective and defensive.

She passes along gossip she picked up on her route today. She adds a new twist to her narration at each door, her careless embellishments to a new song. The tune was markedly different a few streets ago.

Today, Anjalai is hawking mangoes. She chooses her best one and holds it under Paati's nose. Paati sniffs, expressionless, willing herself to frown. One must not give away one's true feelings, she would say.

The air gets heavier with scent of mangoes. It always does in summer.

Summer Air = Nitrogen+oxygen+carbondioxidewatervapourozone+ "SMELL OF OVERRIPE MANGOES".

SHE is antsy, waiting for Paati to close the deal. To take the mangoes to the backyard. To sink her teeth in. To feel the waves of sweetness crash against her palate. To let the yellow juice stain her white cotton skirt. Leaving a cheeky reminder of a sweet sweet sin.

SHE waits till Anjalai and Paati finish their charade. Their dance to consensus. The performance has been perfected over the years. It follows the same movements. The up, the down, the challenge, the retort, the walk away, the call back. Lather, rinse and repeat.

The price was fixed a long time ago. Before the fruit's existence. And by both of them. It was never about the money. "Haggling makes the fruit sweeter," Paati insists. Mangoes can sense when someone has fought over them. "Have you tasted a gloating mango?" Paati asks. "Sweeter than honey."

SHE stares out into the grey now. Mute. Relentless. Unforgiving. Boring. SHE misses things. Paati, Anjalai, that summer, those mangoes.

*Grandmother
** Snack

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Mango Semolina Pudding
Serves: 4 Prep Time: 40 minutes
Ingredients
Semolina	1 cup
Clarified butter	4 Tbsp
Mango Pulp	1 cup
Milk	3 cups
Raisins	1/2 cup
Condensed milk	1/2 cup
Saffron	5-6 small strands
Pistachio(shelled)	1/2 cup
Cardamom	5-6 pods
Method
1. Roast the semolina in 1 Tbsp of the clarified butter till it becomes fragrant. Remove and set aside. 2. Boil the milk in a thick-bottomed pan. When it comes to a boil, add the semolina. Let the semolina cook in the milk till it is done (soft, eatable). 3. Bring it to a simmer. Add condensed milk and mango pulp. 4. Soak the saffron strands in a few tablespoons of warm milk, till they color the milk reddish yellow. Add this to the pudding. 5. Peel the cardamom pods and crush the little black bits and add it to the pudding. Save the peels for flavoring tea 6. Remove the pudding from the stove. 7. In a separate seasoning pan, add three tablespoons of clarified butter. When it warms a little, add the raisins and leave them there to plump up. Add the shelled pistachios. Let them sit for a minute and then add this to the pudding. 8. Refrigerate till it is time to serve.